


Twelve Months

by FreddieFcknMercury



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bucky leaves for a long time, Depression, F/M, M/M, Other, Reader is really fucking sad, Sadness, cursing, genderless reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-15
Updated: 2018-09-15
Packaged: 2019-07-12 16:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15999104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreddieFcknMercury/pseuds/FreddieFcknMercury
Summary: Honestly I don’t even know when this takes place. I wanted to write angsty Bucky longing Drabble and this is what happened. Be nice to me I’m delicate.





	Twelve Months

The two of you would go through all the motions: 'Where are you going?' 'How long will you be gone?' 'Are you coming back?' He'd brush you off or give you some vague or unrealistic answers. Then you'd pout and he'd just kiss you or fuck you into the mattress. You hated being kissed just to make you shut up. When he'd leave you didn't care though. You needed him on top of you one last time. Not even for the sex. You just wanted to feel the weight of him, all of him. How fucking heavy and solid he is. It's not enough to crush you unfortunately, but maybe it could press a hardcopy into your soul and the feeling of him would linger behind just a little bit longer when he left you this time.  
He'd wait until he was sure you were alseep and slip out late in the night or early the next morning and once again you'd spend some unknown amount of time tortured by an empty cold bed.  
A month would go by and you'd struggle to remember what he sounds like and how he felt. Two months and you can't remember how tall he is. Three months, what color are his eyes again? Six months later and you've all but left him behind you go entire weeks without thinking of him once. Seven months, He's in a shoe box in the closet, save for a t shirt he left behind that night. It hasn't felt like him in weeks. You don't remember its his. It's big, you must've kept it to sleep in. You get it dirty without caring how precious it is. How much you might need it one day.  
Eight months later you walk past a bar on the way home from a friend's Christmas party and you smell something... beer? Sweat? And... cologne? Or maybe it's shampoo? Some unreal, unknown combination of scents that hits you hard in the chest and almost knocks you backwards. What the hell is this? You scan the the inside of the bar from the street window looking for something, anything familiar. Anything to explain the ache you feel right now- someone to blame.  
You see a guy sitting at the bar nursing a pint and you storm inside. You stop beside him furious. You scan his face hard. Your vision is getting blurry. Stubble, golden brown locks gently sweeping across the nape of his neck.  
You were ready to scream right in his face. He hadn't noticed you until you grabbed his arm and pulled him around to face you. You didn't know this man. He definitely didn't know you. You didn't hear the words but "What the fuck?!" Was thick in the air. People were staring. You feel the tears start to stream down your face as you declaw yourself from his arm and slowly shuffle back outside and down the street. You're embarrassed. You still didn't know what you were doing, who you were looking for. All you know is you didn't find it and you felt just as empty as before. No, more.

Nine months. It took you nine whole months to decide he might not be coming back this time. No one crossed your mind, but it felt like something had lifted itself from your shoulders and you were thankful for that.  
It took Ten months to not feel bad about kissing that girl at work. She wanted to buy you dinner. That wouldn't be so bad, you hadn't been to a movie in forever. You had a few drinks and that was enough to make you feel good about sleeping with her.  
After Eleven months you finally stopped comparing everyone who came by to someone you didn't even remember. Your boyfriend? Your roommate?  
You started to have some fun again. You went out with coworkers and friends. You took a vacation. You got a puppy, and a hair cut, and a new car, and a postcard. There was no message. No name, no return address. It had your address on it. It was a geometric pattern that had "Bucharest." Printed across the middle in a swirly font. You don't have any friends in Romania. This was delivered to you by mistake. You forgot about it.

Twelve months. One year. It took one full year for you to forget and move on. To look and feel this good again. One year to find the strength to get up and go.  
You danced in your front door, music still blasting from the zoomba class. You Threw the keys in the dish on the hall table, Kicked your shoes off by the laundry room, and Flicked the lights on in the kitchen to find him standing there. He was drinking a glass of chocolate milk he made with the old timey brand powder. It's strong, you can smell it across the room. You did some spring cleaning in the pantry earlier that month but kept the container and you didn't realise why until right now- because He liked it. He looked so small when he'd make it. That shit was insufferable, and you loved it.  
It took twelve months for him to come back. One year to find you. To scare you half to death in the middle of the fucking night. You're surprised to see him but not surprised that he could find a way in. He's a ghost after all.  
"...I tried to send you a postcard." He almost whispered it. You could hear your heart pounding in your ears. You knew you could tell him to leave and he would go. You'd never have to see him again, but you could feel your body start to shake and your muscles start to melt. You missed him. You missed him so much it almost burned an actual hole inside you. He came back because he needed to see you as much as you need to see him. He remembered you this whole time you were trying to forget him, and you hated him for it. Almost as much as you hated yourself.  
Your legs couldn't support you anymore so you slid onto the floor. The rest of your defense system gave up then too. You started crying. Sobbing. When was the last time you cried? When he left? At the bar? You felt cold metal against your cheek and he pressed his forehead against yours. He pulled you Into his lap and squeezed. He whispered something to you in a language you didn't speak but you understood what he meant. Sorry. You were both sorry.  
"...S-so, so sorry Buck.."


End file.
